


We Fall Into One Another

by jettiebettie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Fuck Buddies Turned Boyfriends, M/M, PWP, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jettiebettie/pseuds/jettiebettie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life affirmation is a funny thing, to be perfectly honest.</p><p>It’s like one minute you’re running harder than you ever thought you could in order to outrun bullets, and the next you have boner at the realization that you did it. That you’re alive and unshot and free to fight (flight) for survival another day.</p><p>And then you have your hand down another guy’s pants. It happens.</p><p>It happens to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Fall Into One Another

**Author's Note:**

> To begin: dicks.

Life affirmation is a funny thing, to be perfectly honest.

It’s like one minute you’re running harder than you ever thought you could in order to outrun _bullets_ , and the next you have boner at the realization that you _did it_. That you’re alive and unshot and free to ~~flight~~ fight for survival another day.

And then you have your hand down another guy’s pants. It happens.

It happens to them.

It’s frantic and wild and a little painful, actually, but one could probably expect that when getting fucked outside and up against a vehicle. It’s by no means the rose petaled romance Stiles has envisioned with the lovely ladies in his life, but it’s so much more visceral. And painful, has he mentioned that? Like fucking _ow_ , dude, he can’t really walk properly the next day.

It’s not enough to distract him from the way his clothes from that night smell like Derek, or erase the memory of that asshole’s stubble scraping against his neck. Christ, he knows what Derek’s lips feel like now, and if it wasn’t difficult to pay attention when he was talking before (bunny teeth, man), it’s almost impossible now that every movement of his mouth is just a reminder of that night and the hickey Stiles had on his collar bone days after.

So of course it was bound to happen again.

This time in a bed, because they’re in Derek’s apartment, yelling loudly enough at each other that his neighbors are probably going to complain. It’s a legitimate argument that soon degrades into potshots and below-the-belt insults and nobody plays this game like Stiles, because he is a grade A asshole when he wants to be, and right now he really wants to be.

"God, no wonder so many of your girlfriends go batshit crazy, Derek! You couldn’t screw your way out of a fucking parking ticket!"

And then he’s being slammed against the wall and kissed like a punch to the face.

With that same mouth and that same demanding tongue, with hands gripping the sides of his face and eventually sliding back into his hair in order to pull. Stiles is so lost in the sudden scent and feel of him that he doesn’t fully register when Derek yanks him back from the wall and tosses him onto the bed. No, by that point he’s too busy fumbling with his belt and trying to get naked while simultaneously watching Derek angrily strip out of his clothes. And Derek seems to think he has everything to prove, because he takes his goddamn time working Stiles open. Not that Stiles has room to complain, because each insistent drag of fingers, every intentionally harsh hook to his prostate leaves him feeling hot and too big for his skin.

It’s almost a relief when Derek finally starts fucking him. Nothing about it is slow or calm; Derek’s thrusts are deep and forceful and his hands grip too tight and it’s so fucking good that Stiles can’t help but eat his words even as he moans out praises and demands more with the slide of his tongue against straining muscles.

But things stay pretty much the same.

They don’t talk about it, which is probably part of the problem. It leaves them in a constant state of avoidance, because they’ve both expressed a desire for it to never happen again. They speak to each other indirectly, they’re careful never to be alone with each other in the same room. They don’t even make eye contact, not really, because Stiles pretends that spot over Derek’s shoulder is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen in his life. They’re subtle about it until they’re not, and Scott starts asking questions.

Stiles never answers him, because he doesn’t know where to even start.

Does he start with the handjob in his bedroom? Or the quick fuck in the locker room after school hours? Or how about that one time he had Derek’s cock halfway down his throat while the guy ate him out?

He’s beginning to think they really suck at this avoidance game.

Or maybe a good place would be here, at The Jungle. Maybe he should start with how he’s trying to get this fucked up cycle to stop. At the end of another guy’s dick, sure, but at least it wouldn’t be Derek’s and that the point. He thinks. Maybe. He’s kind of drunk on liquid courage right now, so maybe thinking is an impossibility at this point in time. All he can fully process is that eventually, _finally_ , he’s pushed into a dark corner of the club and being kissed.

He reaches a hand up to the guy’s face and is disappointed to find it clean shaven. He’s not sure why it matters. The guy pushes up against him, lightly pressing him back into the wall and he wants to tell him _no, bro, not made of grandma’s fine china, just fucking get it_. But the guy works his mouth and tongue in a slow, almost non-rhythm that has Stiles casting a bored look out into the crowd of dancing people.

He doesn’t know why, but seeing the bright, piercing glow of blue eyes in a sea of neon lights sets his blood on fire. He brings his other hand up to the guy’s face, taking control of the kiss and injecting some fucking life into it, never once breaking his staring contest over the dude’s shoulder. The guy finally gets with the program though, lowering his hands from Stiles’ torso down to his ass and squeezing with a too weak grip. Stiles moans anyway, just to get those eyes to glow brighter, to come closer.

When Derek’s only a few feet away, Stiles can’t fucking take it anymore.

He pulls his mouth away from his fellow club goer, turning his head to avoid the guy when he leans back in for another kiss. Instead, he lets go, tugging the guy’s hands off of him and pulling away. The guy protests but Stiles is already walking toward the side exit.

He’s not outside for more than five seconds before someone else bursts out of the club and has him pinned against the alley wall with enough force to wind him for a moment. He gasps and smiles because fuck his earlier plan, _this_ is what he’s here for. The rough scratch of stubble, the hands that grip tight enough to make his hips ache, the sharp press of teeth against his bottom lip and the tongue that soothes the sting.

"You feel so much better," he breathes against Derek’s mouth.

He doesn’t know how they made it into the back of Derek’s Toyota, but he really doesn’t fucking care as long as the man doesn’t take his hands off of him. They clumsily pull off their shirts and throw them to the front seat, starting immediately next on their belts and jeans. It’s not as quick as it could be, because Derek refuses to stop kissing him, as if not having his tongue in Stiles’ mouth might cause everything to fade away.

When he does pull back, though, it’s to bury his nose into Stiles’ neck and breathe deep. An unhappy sound vibrates against Stiles’ skin right before Derek bites down where his neck meets his shoulder. Stiles cries out, because even though it’s not hard enough or fangy enough to break skin, it’s definitely going to bruise. Stiles can feel the strings of saliva still connecting them when Derek lets go.

"He couldn’t do it could he?" Derek growls out, his breath warming the wet spot in Stiles’ neck. "He couldn’t give you what you need." He runs his tongue up until he reaches his ear, simultaneously shoving his hand down Stiles’ messily opened jeans, cupping his erection. "Not like I can. Not like I’ve done." And Stiles would love to knock Derek off of whatever narcissist horse he’s climbed up on, but he’s too busy rocking up into Derek’s hand and moaning like some pathetic, desperate _thing_. Fuck it, Derek can keep the horse, name it Miguel, he doesn’t fucking care as long as Derek doesn’t stop taking him apart.

"Maybe I wanted him to," Stiles hears himself saying as he wiggles the rest of the way out of his jeans. "You just stood there. Would you have even let him? Would you have let him try?" He knows he’s taunting a wolf, that he’s being really stupid right how, but he’s tipsy and horny and a maybe little power drunk as well. It doesn’t matter though, because his questions spur Derek into another suffocating kiss as hands spread his legs open. With an annoyed huff, Derek pulls away from him, leaning up to the front to grab something from the glove compartment. Stiles takes the time to enjoy the view and realizes that this is maybe only the second or third time he’s seen Derek’s ass fully, which is a damn shame.

When Derek comes back, it’s with a familiar bottle of lube in hand that Stiles distinctly remembers putting back in Derek’s bedside drawer. Which means he was prepared for something like this to happen again, even when they keep lying to themselves and insisting it won’t. Stiles chooses not to think about it right now, not when he has mixed drinks in his stomach and fingers in his ass. Sweat begins to collect on his skin, making him alternatively stick to and slide against the leather of the back seat as he moves with Derek’s hand.

"Think he’d be able to do this for you?" Derek suddenly asks him, his voice dark, letting the tips of his fingers catch on the rim of Stiles’ hole as he pulls his fingers out. Stiles doesn’t stop the whimper that comes out of his mouth, isn’t even sure he could if he tried. Derek sinks them back in slowly. "Think he could touch you like this? Just how you like it?" He uses his whole hand to press against Stiles, forcing his fingers deeper and causing Stiles’ hips to shift up.

"Derek!"

"I don’t think he could," Derek continues and Stiles is kind of surprised. The man’s never been this talkative in the sack before; vocal, sure, but this is something new. "He wouldn’t even know where to start with you. What gets you going, what makes you feel good. I bet he couldn’t make you scream." Derek hooks into his prostate then and doesn’t let up. Stiles shakily claws at his shoulders as his entire body convulses in time with the alternating motions of Derek’s fingers. He tries to close his legs, tries to fight the rapidly rising sensation that he can feel in his legs and in his cock, but Derek’s other hand catches a thigh and holds him open.

He comes all over both of them, a loud, choked shout filling the car as his eyes roll back. It takes him fucking forever to catch his breath, and even then the small intermittent tremors haven’t stopped shaking his body. Derek has pulled his fingers out, now pushing them through the mess Stiles has made on their stomachs and chests. He can see that Derek took the time he was out of it to prepare himself, but Derek drags Stiles’ come onto his fingers and uses it further coat his cock. It’s weird. And hot. But mostly kind of weird. Whatever, let him have his freaky werewolf kinks; it’s not any more concerning than wanting to push back inside of Stiles for a while after they’ve finished on each other.

Stiles brings a shaky hand up to his neck, fingering the indentations he can still feel there while he watches Derek jerk himself. He moans from it, causing Derek to glance back up at him, his eyes flashing blue as his lifts Stiles’ legs up. Stiles doesn’t bother helping him; he’s boneless right now, from orgasm and alcohol, and he’s pretty sure Derek likes manhandling him into just the right position.

"You’re right," he slurs out, catching Derek’s attention again. "You’ve fucking ruined me."

When Derek pushes into him, he doesn’t stop until he’s bottomed out, hips flush with Stiles’ ass and hands pressing more bruises into his thighs. He doesn’t wait for Stiles to adjust, doesn’t need to, before he starts up a brutal pace. He lifts Stiles’ lower back up as he rises high up on his knee, forcing Stiles to shift his weight onto his back and shoulders. He has to wrap his legs around Derek just to hold on, hands going up above his head to shove against the car door.

Every unrelenting thrust is a spark of overstimulation through Stiles’ body. The feel of Derek inside of him, stretching him, using him is fucking incredible. Every gutted sound the man makes, every flash of bright blue and stinging of too sharp claws is just a reminder. Stiles does this to him, Stiles makes him lose control and fucking _take_. It’s enough to make him hard again, to make him throw his head back and pant, mouth wide open.

"Fuck, Stiles-"

"Please! Please, please!" Stiles doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but he’s so fucking close again and he knows Derek is too. He’ll pull out soon and come all over Stiles’ chest like all those other times, rub it into his skin and then lick it off. It pushes him over the edge once more, body seizing and clamping down on Derek’s cock as he comes for the second time. Derek chokes, hips stuttering against his ass, thrusting wildly a few more times before he bottoms out again, his body convulsing.

He just came inside. He just came still balls deep inside of Stiles.

He knows werewolves don’t carry diseases; it’s why they haven’t used a condom since they fell into this… whatever it is. But this is- this is the first time he- he’s never-

He’s never come inside before, never collapsed on top of him and covered Stiles’ panting mouth with his own. It’s a wet, filthy kiss with zero finesse, and Stiles swears he can still feel Derek pulsing inside of him. He should complain. He should tell him to stop.

"Derek-"

He should really learn how to talk around having another tongue in his mouth.

"Nobody else," Derek says against his lips, his voice wrecked and no longer carrying the dark tone from before. He presses gentle, open mouth kisses along Stiles’ neck, his stubble leaving a pleasant sensation in his wake. "Please. Nobody else."

"Okay," Stiles says, exhausted. "Okay." Because it’s all he can say as he wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and pulls him in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> In conclusion: monogamous dicks. 
> 
> (Did you know you could find me at jettiebettie.tumblr.com? It's true.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(podfic of) We Fall Into One Another](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1319377) by [neverbalance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverbalance/pseuds/neverbalance)
  * [Love is Blindness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218893) by [Hepzheba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hepzheba/pseuds/Hepzheba)




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